Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna's party and the sleepless night of worry when Pierre had decided that marriage to Helene would be a disaster and he must avoid her and get away - six weeks later, Pierre had still not left Prince Vasily's and he was horrified to think that with each passing day he was becoming more and more closely associated with Helene in people's minds, that he could never recover his former attitude towards her, that he couldn't possibly tear himself away from her and that even though it would all work out horribly he would have to unite his life to hers. He might just have been able to extricate himself, but not a day passed without Prince Vasily (who almost never gave receptions) holding an evening party which Pierre had to attend if he was not to spoil people's pleasure and let them all down. On the rare occasions when Prince Vasily was at home he would catch Pierre by the arm as they passed, casually offer him a clean-shaven, wrinkled cheek for a kiss and say, 'I'll see you tomorrow,' or, 'Don't miss dinner, or I shan't see you,' or, 'I'm staying in for your sake,' or something like that. But even though Prince Vasily, when he did stay in 'for Pierre's sake', never spoke two words to him, Pierre hadn't the heart to let him down. Every day he said the same thing to himself over and over again. 'I really must try to understand her and work out who she is. Was I wrong then, or am I wrong now? No, she's not stupid. No, she's a lovely young woman,' he told himself sometimes. 'She never puts a foot wrong. She's never said anything stupid. She doesn't say much at all, but what she does say is always straightforward and clear, so she can't be stupid. She's always self-possessed . . . never loses control. She can't be all that bad!' When he was with her he would often start to develop an idea or think out loud, and she would always respond with a terse but relevant comment that showed she wasn't interested, or else with a silent smile and peculiar look, the most palpable indication of her superiority. She was right to think that any spoken arguments were nonsensical when set against that smile.
She now smiled at him in a special way; it was a cheerful, reassuring smile which meant more than the society smile that was always there adorning her face. Pierre knew that everyone was just waiting for him to say the word, cross the line, and he knew he would cross it sooner or later, but he was inexplicably horrified whenever he thought of taking this dreadful step. During those six weeks, as he felt himself sucked down deeper and deeper into the ghastly abyss, Pierre had said to himself a thousand times, 'What am I doing? I've got to be firm! Surely I can manage that!'
He struggled to make a decision, but was dismayed to realize that in this case he lacked the will power which he had once known in himself and really did possess. Pierre was one of those people who can show strength only when their intentions are absolutely pure. And ever since the evening when he had felt so powerfully aroused as the snuff-box was being passed at Anna Pavlovna's, an unconscious sense of sinfulness in that impulse had paralysed his will power.
On Helene's name-day Prince Vasily gave a small dinner party for 'a few of their own', as his wife put it - just a handful of relatives and friends. All these relatives and friends were given to believe that this was the day when the young lady's destiny would be decided. They were all now at the table. Princess Kuragin, a huge, imposing woman who had once been beautiful, sat at the head, with guests of honour on either side - an old general and his wife, and Anna Pavlovna Scherer. At the other end of the table sat the less elderly and less important guests, including Pierre and Helene, who were family, sitting side by side. Prince Vasily did not eat. He wandered up and down the table in jovial mood, sitting down beside one guest and then another. To each he addressed a few pleasant and casual words, except Pierre and Helene, whose presence he seemed not to notice. Prince Vasily was the life and soul of the party. The wax candles burnt brightly, silver and crystal glistened on the table, as did the ladies' finery and the gold and silver of the men's epaulettes. Servants wove in and out around the table in their red livery. There was a clinking of knives, glasses and plates, and a buzz of lively chatter from several conversations around the table. At one end an ageing chamberlain could be heard assuring an elderly baroness of his ardent love for her, and she was laughing. At the other end someone was describing the misfortune of a certain Marya Viktorovna. In mid-table Prince Vasily had collected his own little audience. With a playful smile on his lips he was telling the ladies about last Wednesday's session of the privy council when Sergey Kuzmich Vyazmitinov, the newly appointed military governor of St Petersburg, read out a missive - much talked of at the time - which he had received from Emperor Alexander. Writing from the army, the Emperor had assured Sergey Kuzmich that from all sides he was receiving tokens of devotion from his people, he found the one from St Petersburg particularly gratifying, it was an honour for him to be at the head of such a nation and he would do his best to live up to it. The missive began with the words, 'Sergey Kuzmich. From all sides reports are reaching me . . .'
'Are you saying he never got further than "Sergey Kuzmich"?' one lady asked.
'No, no, not a syllable,' Prince Vasily answered with a laugh.
' "Sergey Kuzmich . . . From all sides." "From all sides . . . Sergey Kuzmich . . ." Poor old Vyazmitinov, he just couldn't get any further. He kept starting again, but as soon as he says "Sergey," . . . he starts sniffing . . . "Kuz . . . mi . . . ich" . . . then tears . . . and "From all sides" is smothered in sobs, and he can't go on. Out comes the handkerchief again . . . "Sergey Kuzmich. From all sides" . . . more tears. We had to get somebody else to read it . . . !'
' "Kuzmich . . . From all sides" . . . and tears . . .' someone repeated, laughing.
'Don't be so nasty to him,' said Anna Pavlovna from the other end of the table, wagging a finger at him. 'He's a worthy and excellent man, our good Vyazmitinov.'
Everyone was laughing heartily. At the head of the table among the honoured guests everyone seemed to be enjoying the evening; in their various ways they were all in a good mood and high spirits. Only Pierre and Helene sat there in silence towards the bottom of the table. Both of them managed a broad grin, but it had no connection with Sergey Kuzmich - it was a smile of embarrassment at what they were feeling. But for all the happy chatter, the laughter and the joking, for all their enjoyment of the white wine, the saute and the ices, for all their scrupulous avoidance of looking at the young couple, the apparent indifference and studied lack of interest, it was still somehow felt from the odd stolen glance that the story about Sergey Kuzmich and all the laughter and the food were a false front, because everybody there was really concentrating on nothing but the two of them, Pierre and Helene. As he mimicked the sniffs of Sergey Kuzmich, Prince Vasily carefully avoided any glance in his daughter's direction, but as he laughed his expression seemed to say, 'Yes, it's going well, it'll be settled today.' Anna Pavlovna may have wagged her finger at him for laughing at 'our good Vyazmitinov', but when her eyes flashed towards Pierre, Prince Vasily read her look as congratulations on gaining a future son-in-law and a daughter's happiness. Old Princess Kuragin, sighing sadly as she offered more wine to the lady next to her, glanced huffily at her daughter, and her sigh to her companion seemed to say, 'No, there's nothing left for you and me now, my dear, nothing but sweet wine - it's time for these infuriating youngsters to flaunt their happiness!' 'What a lot of rubbish I'm spouting - as if I had any interest in it,' the diplomat was thinking as he stole a glance at the lovers' happy faces. 'Now that's what I call happiness!'
The trivialities and affectations shared by all the guests had been invaded by a simple feeling - the mutual attraction between two handsome and healthy young creatures. And this one human feeling dominated everything else and soared above all their affected chatter. Jokes fell flat, news was boring, the jollity was obviously forced. It was not only the guests - even the servants seemed to have the same feeling as they neglected their duties to glance at the lovely Helene with her radiant look and the broad, red, happy face of the uneasy Pierre. The very candlelight seemed to be concentrated on those two happy faces.
Pi
erre sensed that he was the centre of everything, a situation that he found both agreeable and embarrassing. He was like a man deeply preoccupied, with no clarity of vision, no proper hearing, no understanding of anything. Only now and then did a few desultory ideas and fleeting impressions of reality flash across his mind.
'It's all over, then!' he was thinking. 'How did it come about? It's been so quick! I can see now it is definitely going to happen - not for her sake and not just for mine, but for everybody else's. They're all expecting it, they're all so sure it's coming - I can't let them down, I just can't. But how will it work out? I don't know, but there's one thing for sure - it will happen, it will!' thought Pierre, glancing at the dazzling shoulders so close to his eyes.
Then suddenly a vague sense of shame would come over him. He felt embarrassed to be the sole object of attention, such a lucky man in the eyes of everyone else, a man with a plain face acting like Paris possessing his Helen.3 'Oh well, I suppose it's always like this. There's no other way,' he would tell himself by way of consolation. 'But what have I done to deserve this? When did it all start? I came up from Moscow with Prince Vasily. Nothing happened. After that why shouldn't I have stayed with him? Then I played cards with her, I picked up her evening bag and we went skating. When did it all start? When did it happen?' And here he was sitting next to her, a virtual fiance, hearing and seeing, sensing her closeness, her breathing, the movements of her body, her beauty. Then it suddenly seemed to him that he was the extraordinarily good-looking one, not Helene, and that was why they were all looking at him, and there he was, revelling in the general admiration, sitting up straight, tilting his head and rejoicing in his happiness. Then suddenly he heard a voice, a familiar voice, repeating something to him.
Pierre was so absorbed that he couldn't take in what was being said.
'I was asking whether you'd heard from Bolkonsky,' said Prince Vasily for the third time. 'You're getting a bit absent-minded, my boy.' Prince Vasily smiled, and Pierre saw that everyone, everyone was smiling at him and Helene.
'All right, all right. You all know, don't you?' Pierre was saying to himself. 'So what? Yes, it's all true.' He smiled his gentle, childlike smile, and Helene smiled too.
'When did you hear from him? Was he in Olmutz?' repeated Prince Vasily, who needed to know in order to settle an argument.
'Why are they talking and thinking such stupid things?' Pierre wondered.
'Er, yes, it was from Olmutz,' he answered with a sigh.
When dinner was over Pierre took his lady into the drawing-room following the others. The guests began to take their leave, several without saying goodbye to Helene. Apparently not wanting to distract her from the serious business of the evening, some guests went up to her for only a moment and then scuttled away, refusing any offer to be shown out. The diplomat was silent and glum as he left the drawing-room, comparing the futility of his diplomatic career with Pierre's happiness. The old general growled angrily at his wife when she asked how his leg was. 'Stupid old fool,' he thought. 'That Helene will be just like her when she's fifty.'
'I believe congratulations are in order,' Anna Pavlovna whispered to Princess Kuragin, giving her an affectionate kiss. 'I would stay, but I'm afraid I have a headache.' The princess didn't respond; she was writhing with envy at her daughter's happiness.
While the guests were leaving Pierre found himself left alone with Helene for some time in the little drawing-room where they had gone to sit down. During the last six weeks he had often been left alone with Helene, but he had never spoken to her of love. He now sensed that this was inevitable but still couldn't bring himself to take the last step. He still had a feeling of shame; here at Helene's side he seemed to be occupying some other man's place. 'This happiness is not for you,' an inner voice told him. 'This happiness is for people who don't have what you have.' But something had to be said, so he launched himself by asking whether she had enjoyed the evening. She replied with her usual straightforwardness - this name-day had been one of the nicest she'd ever had.
A few of the closest relatives were still there, lingering on, sitting in the large drawing-room. Prince Vasily walked casually over towards Pierre. Pierre stood up and said it was getting late. Prince Vasily fixed him with a stern, questioning look, as if his words were so strange he must have misheard. But the stern glance soon disappeared and Prince Vasily took Pierre by the arm, drawing him down into a seat and beaming affectionately.
'And how's my little daughter?' he said to her abruptly, using the casual tone of familiar affection that comes naturally to parents who have cuddled their children since childhood, but in his case had been worked out by imitating other parents. Again he turned to Pierre. ' "Sergey Kuzmich. From all sides . . ." ' he proclaimed, undoing the top button of his waistcoat.
Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew Prince Vasily was not really interested in Sergey Kuzmich, and that Prince Vasily knew that Pierre knew. Then Prince Vasily suddenly mumbled something and walked away. Pierre got the impression that Prince Vasily was quite embarrassed, and he was moved by the sight of embarrassment in this old man of the world. He glanced round at Helene and she looked embarrassed too. Her eyes seemed to say, 'Well, you did it.'
'I must cross that line, but I can't, I just can't do it . . .' thought Pierre, and he launched into something different, asking about Sergey Kuzmich and the point of the story because he hadn't quite heard it. Helene smiled and said she didn't know either.
Prince Vasily had gone into the drawing-room, where the princess was talking about Pierre in subdued tones to an elderly lady.
'Yes, of course it's a very brilliant match, but - happiness, my dear.'
'Marriages are made in heaven,' retorted the elderly lady.
Prince Vasily walked to the far corner and sat down on a sofa as if he hadn't heard them. He closed his eyes and seemed to nod off. His head began to droop, but then he roused himself.
'Aline,' he said to his wife, 'go and see what they are doing.'
The princess went to the door and, strolling past with an air of studied nonchalance, she managed a glance into the little drawing-room. Pierre and Helene were sitting there talking just as before.
'Just the same,' she said in answer to her husband.
Prince Vasily frowned, twisting his mouth to one side, and his cheeks began to twitch with that nasty, brutal expression of his. He shook himself, got up, tossed his head back and walked with firm steps past the ladies and into the little drawing-room. He strode in quickly and went straight up to Pierre, full of delight. The prince's face was so outrageously triumphant that Pierre rose in alarm the moment he saw him.
'Thank God!' he said. 'My wife has told me.' He put one arm around Pierre, the other around his daughter. 'My dear boy! Helene! I am so very pleased.' His voice quavered. 'I was so fond of your father . . . and she will make you a good wife . . . God bless you both!' He embraced his daughter, then Pierre again, and kissed him with his old man's mouth. There were real tears on his cheeks. 'Aline, come here,' he called out.
The princess came in and she wept too. The elderly lady also wiped an eye with her handkerchief. They kissed Pierre, and he kissed the hand of his lovely Helene several times. Soon they found themselves alone together again.
'All this had to be and couldn't have been otherwise,' thought Pierre, 'so it's no use wondering whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. It has to be a good thing because it's something definite, and there's no more of that agonizing suspense.' Pierre held his fiancee's hand in silence and gazed at the rise and fall of her superb bosom.
'Helene!' he said out loud, and immediately stopped. 'There's something special that's supposed to be said on these occasions,' he thought, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what was supposed to be said on these occasions. He looked her in the eyes. She leant forward closer to him. Her face glowed red.
'Oh, please . . . take them off,' she asked, pointing to his spectacles.
Pierre took them off, and in
his eyes, besides that strange look that people always have when they remove their spectacles, there was a look of alarm and bemusement. He made an attempt to bend down and kiss her hand but after one quick, rough toss of her head she found his lips and brought them to her own. Pierre was struck by the new, unpleasantly distorted expression on her face.
'It's too late now, it's all over and I do love her,' thought Pierre.
'I love you!' he said in formal French, suddenly recalling what was supposed to be said on these occasions. But the words sounded so feeble that he felt sick and ashamed.
Six weeks later he was living as a married man in the enormous, newly refurbished Petersburg mansion of the Counts Bezukhov, the proud owner, as people pointed out, of a beautiful wife and millions of roubles.
CHAPTER 3
In December 1805 old Prince Nikolay Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vasily proposing a visit with his son. ('I am going on a tour of inspection, and it will only mean a little detour of seventy miles for me to visit you, my honoured benefactor,' he had written. 'My Anatole is coming with me on his way to the army, and I hope you will allow him to express to you in person the high esteem in which, following his father's example, he holds you.')
'Well, there's obviously no need to wheel Marie out. The suitors are coming here,' the little princess said rather crudely when she heard this. Prince Nikolay frowned and said nothing.
Two weeks after the letter Prince Vasily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the next day he and his son arrived.
Old Bolkonsky had never had a high opinion of Prince Vasily's character, especially in recent years under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander when Prince Vasily had risen high in rank and honour. Now he could see from the letter and the little princess's insinuations what was afoot, and his low opinion of Prince Vasily turned into hostility and contempt. He couldn't mention his name without an indignant snort. On the day when Prince Vasily was due to arrive the old prince was unhappy and in a particularly bad mood. Whether he was in a bad mood because Prince Vasily was coming, or whether his being in a bad mood exacerbated his unhappiness at Prince Vasily's visit, the fact is he was in a bad mood, and early that morning Tikhon had advised the architect against reporting to the prince.